Her countenance, engraved deep inside the soul,
too tough to be dislodged, but noone to be
censured; for this was so uncertain and abrupt.
Moments with her, embedded so mulct,
that even amnesia doth not hast
sufficient vigour to explunge them.
Her smile; which made one fall, and plead
the time to halt for eternity; easy to
be brought and not to be bought.
Her feelings; as elegant as the pearls of the
divine, and as free flowing as breeze; a
book, which all could read but only a
few could understand.
Her heart; a hall of gold, emeralds and
rubies, where all roam; a club for all to
enter, but for some rare ones to be
It was not tough to read her, though,
the language that wrote her, was unique.
For some, she got into their heads, but,
for a few, into their hearts.
And gaze the enchant of her sweet
sorcery, which made me her apprentice
and forced this material to be born.....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem